“No, madame; in order to be a keeper we must take a certain oath; and to take an oath we must have civic rights.”
“Who are you, then?”
“I am Farrabesche,” he said, with deep humility, lowering his eyes to the ground.
Madame Graslin, to whom the name told nothing, looked at the man and noticed in his face, the expression of which was now very gentle, the signs of underlying ferocity; irregular teeth gave to the mouth, the lips blood-red, an ironical expression full of evil audacity; the dark and prominent cheek-bones had something animal about them. The man was of middle height, with strong shoulders, a thick-set neck, and the large hairy hands of violent men capable of using their strength in a brutal manner. His last words pointed to some mystery, to which his bearing, the expression of his countenance, and his whole person, gave a sinister meaning.
“You must be in my service, then?” said Veronique in a gentle voice.
“Have I the honor of speaking to Madame Graslin?” asked Farrabesche.
“Yes, my friend,” she answered.
Farrabesche instantly disappeared, with the rapidity of a wild animal, after casting a glance at his mistress that was full of fear.